


Bruising

by yoshimis_island



Category: My Little Pony
Genre: Abandonment Issues, Alcohol, Cutting, Depression, Self-Harm, Suicidal Thoughts, back sliding, i wrote this for me but you can read it if you really want to, invasive thoughts, loss of a friend group, mental grocery lists, please don’t read this if that’s triggering, realistic depictions of self harm, sad bitch syndrome, sad bitch syndrome pt 2: the saddening, self care after care, shes not violent she’s just sad, suicidal idealation, this isn’t really a traditional pinkamina, trust me i know the urge
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-10-17
Updated: 2019-10-17
Packaged: 2020-11-24 01:55:34
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,111
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/20899736
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/yoshimis_island/pseuds/yoshimis_island
Summary: What becomes of Pinkie after the rest of the mane six grow tired of her antics?





	Bruising

**Author's Note:**

> heyo just wanted to remind y’all in case you didn’t see my warnings that if self harm is something that you’ve stuggled with this could be super fucking triggering, so hey maybe take care of yourself or something but i’m not your dad so who am i to tell you what to do?  
just be safe kiddo

Pinkie really should have seen this coming; after all, she was too fucking annoying for anyone to tolerate for long. It was just too bad she was also stupid enough to forget herself and get sloppy.  _ Weak.  _ And in her weakness she had become dependent on those who would always,  **always** , grow tired of her. 

It’ll be 22 months next week (not that she’s counting or anything). 22 months since her friends had told her that she wasn’t worth the trouble anymore. Closing in on her second year. It didn’t feel like it at all. It was simultaneously too long and far too short to define the perpetual agony she’d been trapped in. 

It had been Fluttershy, of all fucking people, who had started this. Something stupid Pinkie had said got repeated wrong in town and Flutters had taken issue with it (as if Pinkie didn’t say dumb shit all the time, as if she wouldn’t have apologized and explained if Fluttershy had just  _ told her about it _ ). Instead of coming to Pinkie, Flutters went to Dash, who went to Rarity who went to Applejack who went to Twilight and by the time they had all talked it over it seemed everyone had something to add. All her shortcomings had started to wear on their nerves and without a second thought -

she was out. 

They didn’t want her around anymore. After all that they’d been through, all the plans they’d made, all the trouble they’d gotten into and out of, they were just done. She wasn’t worth the trouble. They told her to leave. 

Pinkie hadn’t understood at first, had argued, begged, cried, apologized, and finally - snapped. 

She took another swig of the bottle. It burned on the way down, filling her with warm nausea. She’d need every drop for this. No clean razors, idn’t that a bitch? She’d thrown them out to try and discourage another episode, but the episode came without them. Now the kitchen knife will have to do. But it’s an old knife, dull, and no matter how much she  **needs** this, a small, animal part of her always pulls against it.

Her hair hangs down, straight and dull. Her color has been steadily washing out until she looks almost grey, but some stubborn pink hangs around. 

It’s been two days since she’s slept and a whole week of spiraling, screaming, sobbing, furry that wouldn’t let her go until she cut. She was  _ trying  _ to stop, trying to get better, but there’s only so far she can push now. 

She used to be stronger when they were here (don’t think about them, backstabbers, abandoned, their fault, should have asked, wasn’t worth the trouble, her fault her fault her fault-) but after nearly two years of hanging onto a meaningless life by the tips of her hooves she just can’t deny herself the simple quiet that comes after a good, deep cut. 

It’s not as hard as it used to be to draw first blood. She used to pull away, to flinch from her own skin, but now she presses the blade to her leg and drags out a bloody line. The dull chefs knife bruises more than it pierces, but the pain is consuming. Her head is ringing with the internal screams of relief mixed with the horror at the gruesome mark left over. She had beaten at her legs before this in a desperate attempt to stay away from the knife, but it called her. 

She pulls the tip over the inside of her haunches. It’s an awkward angle but almost impossible to see. Even when there’s no one left to give a shit whether she lives or dies, she’s so careful to hide the marks. 

There’s a littering of old scars (razor scars, thin and perfect) under the new jagged set she’s whittled in. The blood is ugly, but also calming. She could bleed to death right there and no one would find her for days. If she wasn’t a coward, that is. 

As she presses deeper on the third then fourth cuts, a sob wracks her form, tears spilling freely as she gives a pathetic little shudder. It’s just so fucking hard. Why couldn’t she just finish the job? The blade dug deeper. Was anything worth continuing on like this? She was such a fucking wreck, it would be doing everybody a favor. 

But she’s weak. She doesn’t want to die, she just wants everything to stop being terrible. She wants her friends back (but does she? She couldn’t ever trust them again, not after they abandoned her over some bullshit gossip. Threw her out like the garbage she was after they told her they wouldn’t ever do that (and she had been dumb enough to believe them)). 

It’s too much. She takes another drink. Pulls the knife across her skin again and again. In the pain, the complicated becomes simple. This is a hurt that she controls and it forces her stupid brain decide between old wounds and new problems. It always chooses the new problem. 

That’s enough. Her legs look like hell, covered in blooming bruises and rivelts of blood. That would need to be taken care of. She gets up, her vision swimming as she does. Too much alcohol, she needs to be more careful next time. Ha, yeah right. 

The bathroom lights are blindingly bright, sending a stabbing pain threw her head. The bottle of rubbing alcohol is almost empty, she’d need some more when she managed to go to the store. Add razors to the list, too, that knife was too dull for this. 

She takes the bottle into the shower, sits down and pours rubbing alcohol down the fresh marks. It burns like fire, igniting her nervous system. Her thoughts scatter. This is all that matters now. This is her life. 

Closing the lid, she sets the bottle beside the tub. Clumsy hooves pull the curtain closed and she can’t bother to get up before turning the shower on. It comes out ice cold, making her flinch pathetically. She wished someone, anyone, cared. The water warmed. 

She sat like that for a while, crying, shaking, and eventually, breathing. When everything felt like nothing and she couldn’t focus her mind, she turned the water off and climbed out. Her steps still wobbled, but she didn’t care. Pinkie had reached nirvana: apathy. 

She was still wet from the shower when she crawled into bed. Her legs didn’t hurt now, but in the morning they would, and the next day she might feel regret with the horrible soreness that would surely come, but for now she would sleep. Thank fucking god. 

**Author's Note:**

> losing friends sucks. losing your entire social circle and spending two years alone really sucks.


End file.
